by C. B. Hanley
Edwin saw Martin ride into the precinct, leading another horse on a rein. He waved, and Martin gestured that he would stable the horses and then come over.
Brother Helias sketched the sign of the cross in the air. ‘I must be about my duties, Edwin. I know that we have permission to talk to you, but I have been heading towards idle gossip and I don’t think Father Abbot intended that. Benedicte, my son.’
He walked off and Edwin sat back down against the wall. It wasn’t long before Martin arrived, blocking out the sun and casting him into shadow. Edwin shifted sideways and indicated the ground beside him; Martin obligingly took off his sword and folded himself down into the space so that Edwin didn’t have to strain his neck upwards. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.
‘So, how were the books?’
Edwin laughed. ‘They were fine, thank you, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it. The one useful thing I did find out was that Brother Alexander wrote some of them himself, and that he was halfway through another one when he died. I thought I’d keep it in mind that someone might have wanted to stop him finishing it, but I can’t for the life of me think why.’
‘What was it about?’
Edwin opened his mouth, but he just couldn’t bring himself to confess his stupidity. He waved his hand. ‘Something religious. Nothing controversial, though Brother Octavian reckoned that heathens and heretics might not like it.’
Martin made a derisive noise. ‘Heathens and heretics don’t like anything, do they? That’s why we go on crusades to kill them.’
Edwin digested that. ‘Anyway, how was your afternoon? Did you find anything out from the lay brothers at the grange?’
Martin picked up a small stone and cast it aimlessly across the courtyard. ‘More than I ever wanted to know about wool, that’s for sure. Oh, but Brother Alexander did used to go there, and he was apparently really fussy about checking all their accounts and making sure that they graded their wool right.’
Edwin pricked up his ears. ‘Their accounts?’ Money had been the reason for many a murder before.
‘Yes, they shear the sheep and pack all the wool there, and keep lists – ledgers, they call them – of what they sell and for how much. That sort of thing. Some of the ledgers are out at the granges and the rest are in the office in the lay brothers’ range here – is that the place up the stairs we saw when we first arrived?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ That reminded Edwin of something and he reached into the purse at his belt. ‘When I came past it again I found this on the stairs, but I don’t know what it is – any idea?’ He showed Martin the strangely shaped piece of metal.
Martin took it. ‘Yes, of course – it’s the chape off the bottom end of a scabbard. Look.’ He held his sword across his knees and showed the bottom tip of the scabbard to Edwin. There was a piece of metal there helping to strengthen the leather, and Edwin could see the similarity in the shape. Martin looked at him quizzically. ‘And your own dagger will have one as well – didn’t you notice?’
Edwin shrugged. ‘I wasn’t paying it all that much attention, to be honest.’
‘A fine dagger like that, and you haven’t looked it over so many times that you know every detail?’ Martin shook his head. ‘You’re mad.’
‘If you say so. Anyway …’ Edwin pointed at the chapes in front of him. ‘These aren’t quite the same. Yours is plain and this one has a decoration on it.’
Martin handed it back. ‘Yes. And I know whose it is – it belongs to that knight who’s staying in the guesthouse. Sir Philip.’
Edwin paused in the act of stowing the metal back in his purse. ‘Sir Philip? But what would he be doing in the lay brothers’ office? He’s not a merchant, is he?’
‘Ha – not likely, and I wouldn’t say that to his face, either.’
Edwin pondered that for a while, but came up with nothing. ‘Let’s leave that for now and go back to the question of the lay brothers. One of them is in charge of these accounts you were talking about?’
‘No, it turns out that none of the lay brothers can read or write. I had a talk with one of them, Brother Sinnulph, while he was showing me around, and he explained it all. The white monks – choir monks – come from noble families, so they’ve got some education. The lay brothers are all from peasant families – some of them ask to join, and some are persuaded to by their families if they have too many sons for their bits of land. You can’t move from one to the other – you join one part and you stay there. And the lay brothers just do manual work, not the reading and so on.’
‘So how do they do the accounts then?’
‘Oh, didn’t I say? One of the white monks was there. Sitting at a table and scribbling down loads of numbers – no idea what they meant.’
‘Which monk?’
Martin thought about it and then shrugged. ‘No idea. They all look the same to me. Youngish, I suppose, but it’s difficult to tell when they all shave their heads like that.’
Edwin watched in amusement as Martin ran his hand through his own mop of hair, tousling it, apparently unaware that he was doing so. If there was one man he could guarantee was never going to become a monk, he was looking at him now.
‘So, say that Brother Alexander went to look at these accounts and found out that something was wrong with them?’
Martin dropped his hand again, running his fingers idly up and down his scabbard. ‘What, like they were stealing money or something?’
‘Yes. From what you saw, would it be possible for them to sell the wool at one price, but then write down a different price and keep the difference?’
‘I don’t know, but I suppose so.’
‘Who would that involve?’
‘Well, they had lots of men there, but it wouldn’t be anything to do with the hired labourers. They just come in at this time of year, shear the sheep and pack the wool, but they aren’t involved with the grading or the selling. So that leaves the lay brothers and the monk who comes to do the writing.’
‘And we don’t know who that is.’
Martin looked down. ‘No. Sorry. Now I think about it, I should have asked.’
Edwin was quick to reassure him, conscious of his own current feelings of inadequacy in that area. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.
‘I still don’t feel like we know much about Brother Alexander himself. Lots of people have been able to tell us about what he did, but nobody has really said what he was like.’
Martin squinted into the sun as he considered this. ‘He was a bit tougher than the other monks, I reckon.’
Edwin nodded. ‘Aylwin did say that he thought he’d come off worst in a fight if it came to one.’
‘Well, yes, though judging by the state of him, Adam could probably best him in a fight so that doesn’t say all that much.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Although, having said that, Brother Alexander must have been quite strong if he’s been carrying barrels of ale around by himself – they’re quite heavy and I should know.’ Unconsciously he flexed his arms, no doubt recalling his years of table service for the earl. ‘But no, what I meant was that he’s travelled. It takes some guts to get yourself around like that – how many of the other brothers here do you reckon would pack up a bag and rely on themselves to get five miles, never mind over the sea?’
Travelling … that reminded Edwin of something. ‘Brother Octavian told me that before he came here to take the cowl, Brother Alexander was a schoolmaster at St Albans. Do you know where that is?’
‘Not exactly, but not far north of London.’
‘So nowhere near here then?’
‘Oh no. Several days’ journey even on horseback. Weeks, I suppose, if you were walking.’
‘And there must be some other Cistercian monasteries between there and here.’
Martin made a noncommittal gesture. ‘I suppose there must be.’
‘So, if you’re in St Albans, and you decide you want to become a monk, a Cistercian monk, why would you tra
vel half the length of the kingdom to join the Order here? Why not just find the nearest place?’
‘No idea. But then I also have no idea why anyone would want to be a monk in the first place, so I’m probably not the right person to ask.’
Edwin sighed. ‘All right. I’ll keep that in my head for now. There is someone who might be able to tell us more about Brother Alexander’s travels – Brother Helias told me that there was another monk here who he talked to more than the others. But he’s apparently in the infirmary with toothache, so I’m not sure if I can just walk in and ask to talk to him.’
Martin gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Ha. Good luck getting past that infirmarer. He’ll probably throw you out before you have a chance to open your mouth.’
Edwin stood. ‘I’ll try my best to be polite. And if you’ve already argued with him then I’d better go on my own. What will you do in the meantime, apart from trying not to upset any more monks so you can’t go near them again?’ He’d meant it as a joke, but a shadow crossed Martin’s face as he also got to his feet. Edwin was used to his height, but every so often he was struck again by Martin’s physical presence, and he hoped to the Lord that they would never come to blows. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’
‘It’s all right. You’re right anyway – I need to learn to act more cautiously around them.’ He glanced around. ‘But there is one I haven’t offended yet. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to chop some more wood.’
‘Wood? What … oh, the novice you spoke to.’ Edwin followed Martin’s gaze and spotted – Benedict, was it? – making his way across the precinct. ‘Good idea. Just get him talking about anything you can think of, and you never know, he might say something important.’
‘All right. And I wish you well with the infirmarer.’ He grinned. ‘If he threatens you, come and get me and I’ll threaten him back. I’m turning out to be quite good at that!’ He gave Edwin the most almighty clout on the shoulder and stalked off to follow the novice.
Rubbing his shoulder and muttering under his breath about knights and squires, Edwin made his way around the outside of the main abbey buildings, and was directed by an obliging lay brother to where the infirmary occupied a separate building out to one side, not far from the abbot’s house. He entered quietly and stood by the door, looking as meek as he could, watching the tall, bald monk who was attending to an elderly brother in a bed.
Eventually the monk noticed Edwin. Edwin whipped off his hat and looked at the floor. Judging by what Martin had said, extreme humility was going to be the way forward here.
The monk approached him. ‘This is the infirmary for the brethren, my son. If you are a guest who needs attention then you need to go to the guestmaster.’
Edwin risked a look up. ‘Pardon me for interrupting, Brother, but are you the infirmarer?’
‘Brother Durand, yes. But as I say —’
‘I don’t mean to disturb you, Brother, but the lord abbot said I might speak to any of the brethren if it helped me to find out what happened to Brother Alexander.’
The monk folded his arms and stared at Edwin for a long moment. ‘So, you’re one of them, are you? Well, you’ve got better manners than your friend, I’ll give you that. To whom did you wish to speak? Me? Or one of the brethren here?’ He gestured and Edwin saw that several of the beds were occupied by frail-looking men.
He took a deep breath. ‘Actually I was wondering if I could speak with Brother Richard? I’ve been told he’s here?’ He looked around but he couldn’t see that any of the infirmary’s residents looked like they had toothache.
Brother Durand’s reply was sharp. ‘That won’t be possible.’
Edwin tried to remain as mild as he could. ‘Why?’
‘Because he won’t be able to tell you anything.’
‘But I have been told that he and Brother Alexander spoke together often.’ The infirmarer’s face took on a stern look and Edwin rushed to correct himself, not wanting to get anyone into trouble. ‘As often as it was permitted, I mean. I’m sure they kept the proper rules of silence, but the brethren here are allowed to talk to each other occasionally, aren’t they, as part of their work or in the parlour?’
Brother Durand relented slightly. ‘That is true. But when I said that Brother Richard couldn’t tell you anything, I didn’t mean that he might not know anything – just that he is not in a fit state to speak.’
Edwin held his ground. ‘May I see him anyway? Please? It would just be for a few moments.’
Brother Durand shrugged. ‘Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He led the way to the very end of the infirmary, where a bed was hidden behind a screen.
Edwin followed him round, but stopped dead in shock when he saw the monk lying in the bed. He crossed himself and asked for the Lord’s mercy for the poor man. Dear God.
Brother Richard’s head was monstrously swollen, twice the normal size, the skin stretched so tight that Edwin could almost see through it; it looked in danger of bursting at any moment. His nose had sunk into the swelling, his eyes were almost buried, and he didn’t look as though he’d be able to open his mouth at all. A hollow reed had been put between his lips, presumably so that he could breathe.
Edwin looked down at him in horror and pity. He was about to back away quietly, all ideas of questioning him gone, when he thought that he saw the eyes watching him. He knelt by the side of the bed and took the monk’s hand. ‘Can you understand me?’
There was no way that Brother Richard could speak or even nod, but Edwin felt a slight pressure on his hand.
Edwin kept his voice gentle. ‘I was going to ask you some questions about Brother Alexander and his travels, and why he took the cowl here, but it can wait until you’re better. In the meantime I will pray for you.’ He made as if to stand, but the hand holding his did not let go. He looked into the eyes again, and thought he could see a question there.
Brother Durand spoke from behind him, more gently than Edwin would have expected. ‘I don’t think he knows that Brother Alexander is dead. He’s been in here for more than a week, and he only has brief periods in control of his wits.’
The grip became tighter, and the sunken eyes filled with tears. With his other hand Brother Richard made a gesture which Edwin didn’t understand, before his arm fell back on to the bed.
Edwin looked questioningly at the infirmarer.
‘As you might know, we sometimes use signs to speak to each other. That is the sign meaning brother, another of the brethren. Hearing of the death must have brought him back to himself for a moment.’ He leaned over the prone man. ‘I’ll make up another poultice for your face, Brother, and get you something to drink.’
They both made their way back into the main infirmary room and over to the bench where Brother Durand kept his herbs and medicines.
‘May I ask what happened to him?’ Now he was away from the suffering man, Edwin realised he was shaking.
‘He had been having toothache for some time. When it got too bad I extracted two of the teeth from his left side, the ones which were most rotten. Some hours after this he felt better, and he was able to join the brethren on the refectory for the evening meal. He ate more than he had been accustomed to, and was then struck down for his gluttony: he was assailed by pain and his head began to swell as you have seen. I have tried many poultices, and I have bled him several times, but to be honest there is little we can do except pray for him.’ He began to grind some things into a paste, saying the paternoster as he did so.
Edwin’s curiosity was aroused. ‘Does that make the medicine more powerful?’
Brother Durand smiled without pausing in his mixing. ‘… adveniat regnum tuum … no prayer is ever wasted, my son … fiat volontas tua … but in this case it is because … sicut in caelo et in terra … the poultice needs to be mixed for the exact time it takes to say the paternoster twice.’ He continued under his breath as Edwin watched, until the mixture was ready. ‘Now I’ll spread some on his face, and then try t
o get some of that watered wine into him.’
Edwin must have winced, for Brother Durand nodded. ‘It is not easy, and it causes him a lot of pain even though I drip it in one drop at a time. But he must have liquid to restore his humours, or he will die anyway.’ He took the poultice and moved away.
Edwin made his way back outside. Clearly there was going to be no point expecting any information from Brother Richard. The poor man. Still, he had at least succeeded in not antagonising the infirmarer so he might be able to go back to him with further questions if he had any.
It was late afternoon, and the precinct was full of monks and lay brothers returning from their labours. Edwin decided against heading straight for the guesthouse and instead turned to walk around to the other side of the infirmary building. He soon found himself in a graveyard – yes, he supposed it was natural that the burial place for the monks should be next to the building in which they were most likely to die. There were mounds laid out in neat rows, older ones at the end nearer to him, which had flattened out and were covered in grass – cut grass, though, with no weeds, he noted, so someone must have the task of taking care of the monks’ resting places – and newer ones towards the far end. He walked between the graves towards the last one in the last row, a fresh scar of brown earth.
This must be the final resting place of Brother Alexander, for nobody had mentioned another recent death, and the previous grave looked like it had been there some months at least. Edwin stood in the space next to it, where he supposed the next brother to die would be buried before they had to start another row. He wondered what they would do once the graveyard was full, and how long it would take to fill up the – let’s see – twenty-five spaces, if the rows continued in the same pattern.
He shook his head. Concentrate. He knelt down by the grave and said a prayer for the soul of a man he had never met and never would – a man he couldn’t even visualise – but whose life and death had become of great concern to him. Then he began to pray for enlightenment, for help with his task. He remembered not to let himself speak aloud: he had once done this at the grave of his father when he was in desperate need of help and advice, and it had earned him some strange looks. But the people in Conisbrough knew him, knew his devotion to his father; here they did not, and he had no idea what sort of punishment might come his way if he were to be accused of trying to commune with the dead.